Always. pic for poem

All visions are, as dreams

elided by the sting

of disappointment

They find horizons hemmed by lesser men

who languish at the frontiers

of all I ever wished for


I glimpse perimeters


and know that I am contained

within this spirit world

of bloodsurge and ego

peeping at the possibilities

that sustain hope yet


a constraining hand will

by its’ magic

clench and keep me shy

of all that light

That Promised Land


The first

The first.jpg

How apt to start the month,

with a Monday

Now we’ll expect symmetry to unfold

Like logic. As it should

And all the curly wurly thoughts

False starts and chaos of the past

Be tamed. Brought into line

Oh, how kind, to start like this

To give us all a break

This democracy of chance

Whence one, the first, could be the last

Figures rolling, resolving to be

Significant in patterns that repeat

The life cycle. But neatly

And if all the lights go out

Then what, my number fetishists

Are we cast into a darkness

Of tumbling die

Where confusion will drown clarity

And logic leak from the cracks

Of pursed lips that crave conformity

New days. New dawns

They are not cheap

Entrusted as they are

With all we most want to keep

Perhaps we should be

Blind to numbers that conform

To patterns that unfold in sleep